Titanic: Adventure Out of Time: A Story of Redemption
by mungojerry311
Summary: In 1942, a former British Secret Service agent is troubled by his failures on the Titanic 30 years earlier. He gets a second chance when a bomb blast propels him back to the Titanic on the night of the sinking. Can he succeed in his mission which he failed to accomplish that fateful night? The past will never be the same.
1. Blast To The Past

Carlson looked up at the sinking Titanic from the lifeboat. Its lights still shone brightly against the clear night sky. As the lifeboat rowed away from the doomed ship's hull, he kept hearing a voice inside his head:

"There's no moon, I don't like that. No moon means surprises…" It was Officer Morrow, the man who had let him on the boat so he could escape the ship. Soon, the ships lights went dark. More voices joined the din inside his head.

"Carlson, Commander Hipple wants to see you, its urgent…" "Someone must shoulder the blame… Someone must shoulder the blame…" He wanted the voices to stop but couldn't make them stop.

Carlson sat helpless as he watched the ship disappear beneath the waves of the Atlantic. He looked into the lifeboat he was sitting in. Only he and another man were sitting in it. Looking closer he noticed the man was someone he had not seen before. The man wore a military like outfit.

The man glanced at Carlson and smiled at him with a churlish smile. He snickered with a German accent, "If there is war, Germany will win… Germany will win… Germany will win…"

"Wake up you scum!" yelled Carlson's landlady. "Your morning paper is here!" She yelled as she tossed it at his head.

Carlson awoke with a start. "It was just a dream" he thought to himself. As he sat up in bed, he looked around his crummy apartment. Wallpaper peeled off the walls. The carpet in some spots was torn. The apartment seemed just as broken as his life had been since he had been fired from the Service.

He looked at the date on the newspaper: April 14, 1942. Thirty years. Thirty years since that tragic night. Thirty years since the Titanic had gone down beneath the salty waves. Thirty years since he had failed.

The headline on the paper read: NAZI BOMBERS HIT CITY: Heavy Damage in Docklands.

"What if?" he thought. "What if I had met with my contact?"

He got out of bed and got dressed, as was his normal routine. He then had breakfast and sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace. A copy of Morgan Robertson's "Futility" lay on one of the arms of the chair. Carlson had taken to reading it as of late. He thought it was so prophetic. It had only been written fourteen years before, yet it told of a ship which was the largest ever built sinking on its maiden voyage in the North Atlantic.

Carlson then glanced at the newspaper clipping which served as the bookmark. It told of how Lord and Lady Lambeth had most likely died on the Titanic. He remembered Georgia, who was Lady Lambeth. They had dated once, although that had not lasted long, as he had joined the Service while they were together. He was always saddened when he looked at the clipping. If only he could have saved her.

After his daily reading session, he turned on the radio. They were playing classical music as usual. The news report came on as the song ended:

"And now to begin today's top stories" the female voice announced. "London has endured another night of German bombing. Most damage was concentrated in the east end. The RAF has struck enemy aerodromes in L'Arbre and the Low Countries. In Russia, further German losses are reported around Leningrad. In Asia, the American fortress at Corregidor is still defiant, but Japanese forces are reported nearing the Burmese oil fields. And that concludes the news summary. We now return you to our music program."

Carlson turned off the radio as the music began again. He couldn't bear to listen to that happy sound when the world was being torn to pieces by war.

Just then, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He answered it. It was his landlady.

"It's about time your awake", she cackled, "Your two weeks late with the rent".

"I promise I'll pay it soon", Carlson assured her.

"They said you was important." retorted the landlady, "Not now, now you're just old and broke". With that the landlady exited down the hall.

Carlson thought to himself, "How did I get here?"

He then walked over to his desk, which was all that remained of this former life. In the drawer was his termination notice. It read: "His Majesty's Government regrets to inform you that your services in the Office of the Secret Service are no longer needed. Termination to be effective immediately." Below it Commander Hipple had signed his name.

Also in the drawer was the ticket he had bought for the Hindenburg. Luckily he was not able to go on the trip because his car broke down. He shuddered at the thought.

He picked up his pocket watch. He had been wearing it the night of the sinking. The watch had frozen at 2:20. That was the time the ship sank beneath the waves. Just then, that voice which had replayed over and over in his head became even stronger:

"See here, this isn't about your dedication. Pringle certainly attests to your loyalty. No, your dismissal stems from the Titanic mission. That failure can no longer be ignored, especially now. I am sorry, but someone must shoulder the blame. The Service, you understand. We can't be held responsible."

It was Commander Hipple's voice. It was from the day his life had been turned upside-down. August 10, 1914. Sooner or later they would find out he knew. And find out they did.

As Carlson put down the pocket watch, an air raid siren started going off. Soon it was joined by many others. "There is no escaping now" he thought to himself. All he could do was stand and watch as bombs began to fall across the city.

Just then, a bomb landed outside the apartment building. He felt a force throwing him back. The last sounds he remembered were the sounds of the shattered glass and the explosions. He then blacked out.

Soon he saw himself flying over the ocean as his pocket watch ticked backwards through time and soon faded into the distance. He didn't initially know which ocean it was, but when he saw icebergs he knew it was the North Atlantic. Just then, he heard a voice he recognized as his own:

"The past, forever locked in regret. But what if the past could be changed? Thirty years have come and gone since the night that saw the end of the world, my world. The Service needed someone on the Titanic, the chose me. I was to wait for a signal from my contact, so I remained in my cabin. I left only once, Georgia was on board. And that's when it came, there'd be no second chance. It was Sunday, April 14. Too late you see. For the Titanic. For me. What if I had met with my contact, preventing disaster? What if the past could be changed? What then?"

Carlson thought he saw the Titanic in the distance, but he wasn't sure. He blacked out again.

When he came to, he took in his surroundings. It looked like his cabin on the Titanic, but he wasn't sure. "This can't be" he thought. He looked at the mirror on the dresser. The man in it looked like his younger self.

It was then that Carlson realized that nothing would ever be the same.

TO BE CONTINUED

COMING NEXT: Second Chance


	2. Second Chance

Carlson looked one more time in the mirror above the dresser. The man in it was indeed his younger self. Looking down at himself confirmed what the mirror had revealed. "How very strange. Why am I back on the Titanic?" he thought.

He opened the pocket watch on the dresser. It read 9:30 PM. A look outside the porthole confirmed it. He then noticed his steamer trunk. He wondered to himself why he had bothered to bring such a large trunk in the first place.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Another one came shortly after the last. He wanted to open it but he was afraid to. He hadn't even figured out yet why he was on the Titanic!

Carlson slowly inched toward the door, not knowing what to expect on the other side. With caution he proceeded to turn the handle and open it.

On the other side was a thin, well dressed, and moustached man who seemed close to middle aged. Before Carlson could speak, the man spoke.

"Good evening. I am Smethells, your steward. And if I may say so, it is good to see you up and about" he said.

"Thank you", replied Carlson, extending his hand. "My name is Carlson".

Smethells seemed unimpressed. "You've been in your cabin the whole voyage. A touch of the mal de mer was it?"

Carlson was taken aback by those words. He thought, "Been out of my cabin the whole voyage? The thought of it!"

"What's mal de mer?" asked Carlson, coming out of his thoughts.

"Seasickness", answered Smethells. "Can be quite unpleasant, especially if it is one's first crossing.

Carlson nodded in agreement.

"Since you haven't been out of your cabin, may I instruct you on how to get assistance while on board the Titanic?" Smethells offered.

"No, I don't need any help" Carlson answered.

Smethells, somewhat disappointed, countered, "Very well. Your correspondence."

He took out a silver platter with a note card on it. On it was a date: April 14, 1912. Written on the note card was this: "Meet me by the electric camel, now!, P. P." He already knew what the electric camel was, as he'd read about it in the papers. It was said it was good for the liver. He also knew it was in the gymnasium.

"Am I getting the second chance I've always wanted to complete the mission I failed to do?" thought Carlson. He wasn't sure though, he'd have to get confirmation.

Meanwhile, Smethells muttered, almost to himself, "2,200 on board. And they all want messages delivered, promptly. Even if it is 1912, and the Titanic, the most advanced means of sea conveyance ever devised, I still have only two hands."

Carlson handed back the notecard, which Smethells stowed in his pocket. He then proceeded to hand him a rolled up piece of paper.

"A map of the ship for you" Smethells droned, "Compliments of the White Star Line. I have taken the liberty of indicating your cabin, C-73. Of course on a Sunday evening at this hour, there won't be many people out."

Carlson nodded once again in agreement.

"Will there be anything else?" asked Smethells.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there will be." Carlson responded, remembering the confirmation he needed. "Who is P. P.?"

"A young lady." Smethells answered with a sigh. "A most insistent young lady".

"Penny Pringle!" thought Carlson.

"Will there be anything else?" asked Smethells.

"That will be all" responded Carlson.

Smethells continued: "Have you unpacked? You will find your trunk key in your bag, on the bed. And remember your personal effects, your watch and bag. If you require additional assistance, please ring the bell by the door."

"Thank you", said Carlson.

"Goodnight", Smethells responded and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Carlson could hardly comprehend what he'd just heard. First, how did Smethells know what was inside his bag? Furthermore, it seemed impossible he should be back on the Titanic. He should have died in the bombing, he thought. Still, he decided to make the best of this opportunity and make things right.

He went over to the bed by the door and retrieved his bag, which indeed have the steamer trunk key in it. But his steamer trunk would have to wait. He had more important things to do.

Going back to the dresser to retrieve his pocket watch, he noticed a piece of paper jutting out of one of the drawers. He opened the drawer and read the piece of paper: "Meet me tonight on deck, tell no one! – Georgia".

"Georgia's on board!" Carlson thought. But he couldn't meet her just yet. He had important things to attend to.

Carlson exited his room and made his way toward the grand staircase. He had no time to lose. Upon entering the Grand Staircase, he noticed Smethells standing on the corner of the stairs. He waved and continued on his way.

He marvelled at the splendour that was the Grand Staircase. He wondered why he never noticed it the first time around. On the way he passed a rather plump fellow at the bottom of the A-Deck Stairs. He, again, would have to wait.

Carlson eventually found his way to the gymnasium. A bevy of exercise equipment greeted him. What also greeted him was the sight of Penny Pringle walking toward him. She was just as he'd remembered. An insistent young lady.

"Glory be!" Penny exclaimed. "It's about time! Your late! Another five minutes and I'd have cancelled your mission."

"I apologize Penny; I came as soon as I could." Carlson responded. "What did you want to tell me?" he asked.

"Look at this!" she said as she held out a photograph. Carlson immediately recognized the man in it as the man he'd seen in his dream.

Penny continued: "A German colonel named Zeitel. He's inspecting their embassies in Havana, Washington, and Mexico City. We know better."

"That explains the German accent!" thought Carlson.

Penny proceeded: "Ten days ago the Bureau got word that Zeitel has in his possession a priceless copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, stolen two months ago in Paris after its purchase by a very highly placed member of His Majesty's government."

"What's Zeitel going to do with it?" asked Carlson.

"It's your job to find out!" Penny answered. She looked to see if anyone was listening. "His lordship's watching this very closely. Very closely indeed. I wouldn't fumble this chance either. Unless you fancy spending the rest of your career in some grotty Midland back office shuffling paper about."

He shuddered at the thought. "Is Zeitel traveling alone? He asked.

"No, he's with a protégé." answered Penny. "Name of Haderlitz I believe. The two spend a great deal of time in the Café Parisienne, nibbling pastries."

Penny's mood suddenly became forceful. "Get into the wireless room!" she said forcefully. "I don't know or care how. Officer Morrow wouldn't let me in. See if Zeitel's received or sent any telegrams about the Rubaiyat. You've got a cryptograph in your trunk. It will unscramble the German codes for you. You use the brains God gave you! Watch people. Listen. When you find the Rubaiyat, knock on my door."

"Which cabin are you in?" Carlson asked.

"Cabin F-34. Use the 2nd Class Stairs." She looked around again. "You should be set. Remember, this is your big chance. Don't fail!". With that she left Carlson and went outside.

By this time Carlson knew for sure. He knew that he was being given a second chance. There was no way he could fail this time. Not this time around.

Or could he?

TO BE CONTINUED

COMING NEXT: Old Friends, New Enemies


	3. Old Friends, New Enemies

As Carlson exited the gymnasium and out onto the boat deck, he could hardly believe that he was getting the second chance he had always wanted for thirty years. He had more important things to worry about, namely this so-called Colonel Zeitel.

Carlson walked along the boat deck, taking in the cold sea air. The sea was calm, he thought.

As he rounded the corner by the Second Class Stairs, Carlson stopped in his tracks. There, standing by the railing, was Georgia! She was wearing a turquoise fur-lined coat.

"She's just as beautiful as I remember her being. I thought I'd never see her again!" thought Carlson.

Just then, Georgia noticed him and ran up to him.

"You came! After all this time! It's Georgia!" she exclaimed joyfully. "I'd heard you were on board, where have you been?" she asked.

Not wanting to upset her, he answered "I was detained."

"It's been five years" Georgia said. "I'd have waited a lot longer to see you again. Why didn't you tell me where you'd gone? Deena hadn't a clue. Nor did Jack. My letters were returned. Just like you to show up now with everything such a beastly mess. You must help me."

Carlson felt sorry for her. He should have told her about his job in the Secret Service, but that would have meant being fired. He loved his job in the Service, and there was no way he would be compromised.

"Help you?" he asked, trying to appease her.

"You've no doubt heard the rumors" answered Georgia, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "I won't deny most of them, I can't."

"What rumors?" Carlson asked.

"Even if the money's gone I won't give the diamonds to Charles. Never!" Georgia blurted, seemingly changing the subject. "These are all that remains" she said as she showed Carlson her diamond necklace. "My insurance for a new life without Charles, or Sasha."

"Who's Sasha?" Carlson asked her. He hadn't heard that name before.

"Sasha? The owner of the Barbicon Gallery?" she answered.

"I should have known that!" he thought. Barbicon Gallery was a prominent art gallery in London.

"We're friends. Of a sort." Georgia continued. "He's sailing on the Titanic, taking some paintings to New York to sell." "Please…" she said as she once again looked to make sure there was no one listening. "I mustn't talk any longer. Take it! Take the necklace, it's my only chance now!"

Carlson took the necklace from her hand as she handed it to him.

"Keep it for me" Georgia commanded. "And don't tell Charles you have it. You can't know what he's like." With that, she turned around and walked away toward the other side of the Boat Deck.

By now Carlson couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She was not happy in her marriage, and her life was inches away from falling apart. Despite this, he would need to focus on his mission.

He continued walking along the Boat Deck. It was a very clear night. The stars shone very brightly. It was a lovely night for a walk. As he was approaching the wireless room, a man called out to him.

"Come here!"

Carlson turned around and saw a man in a plaid suit waving to him from the railing.

"I'll be there in a minute!" Carlson yelled. The man waved back in acknowledgement.

Soon Carlson arrived at the door to the wireless room. But just as he was about to reach to turn the handle one of the officers walked up to him and moved his hand away from the door.

"Good evening. Third Officer Morrow here" the man said.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Carlson.", he answered, quite surprised. "I just wanted to have a peek at the wireless. I am fascinated by such modern forms of communication."

"I am sorry but this is the officer's promenade! No passengers allowed!" Morrow responded. "You're the second passenger tonight who's been here. A young woman tried to enter the wireless room earlier. Such a cheek. Probably a suffragette."

"Penny!" Carlson thought.

Morrow continued: "Regulations forbid passengers from entering the wireless room."

Carlson tried to think of a way to dissolve the situation. Some small talk would do he thought.

"The sea appears calm" he said.

"Yes, very calm" Officer Morrow responded, somewhat annoyed.

""You seem a little worried about something" said Carlson, reading Morrow's emotions.

"No moon. I don't like that. Can't see what's coming" Morrow responded. "No moon means surprises, as if we don't have enough already. Mr. Ismay, the White Star Line's president, is on board. We're walking eggshells around him I tell you." Morrow laughed. "Though that's nothing compared to the creeping about my brother-in-law's doing at the moment. His entire London office is in an uproar."

"What uproar?" Carlson asked.

"Tom works for the Admiralty. It seems our plans for troop deployments against Germany disappeared three weeks ago. Tom says the big boys are petrified the Jerries will get wind of it! Could upset the balance of power." Morrow's mood suddenly became one of annoyance. "Politics. Desktop espionage. Bureaucrats. Pah! Give me the sea, you can toss the rest."

"You don't like politics?" Carlson asked curiously.

"Never have, not since the war." Morrow answered.

"What war was that?" asked Carlson.

"South Africa" Morrow responded. "Boer War. The officer was a drinker. He was drunk when they trapped us out on the veld. On a moonless night. It was a massacre. We never saw them coming. Drink always leads to the devil."

"No wonder moonless nights make you jumpy." Carlson replied.

"Interesting connection" said Morrow. "For all I know it could be true. A man's got his troubles. Sick child being away from home. But I hate whiners and apologizers. Thank you for your insight."

"Now, may I visit the wireless room?" asked Carlson, hoping that his small talk had softened Officer Morrow up.

"Have a look why don't you?" Morrow said. "Mind you, Phillips will have my head if he catches you in there, but I don't see any harm. Go on in." And with that Morrow went back to his post.

Carlson smiled at this small victory. He then proceeded to go in to the wireless room.

What greeted him was a tiny room with the main wireless equipment in the front. But he wasn't here to look at the equipment, he was here to find the telegram. Carlson picked up the first pile and sifted through the messages. Finally, he found one which he recognized as German code. He stowed it away in his bag and exited the wireless room.

"I wonder why Penny couldn't have done it" he thought to himself.

He once again saw the man in the plaid suit waving to him from the railing.

"I'd better see what he wants" Carlson thought. He walked up to the second level of the boat deck and approached him.

"Don't ya love the sea air. Aaaahhhh! Really clears out the sinuses." the man said as Carlson walked up to him. Right away Carlson could tell he was American. "Max Seidelmann. Philadelphia, P-A. Buyer for Haymaker's Department Store. The sharpie of Spruce Street they call me."

"My name's Carlson. Nice to meet you." he said as they shook hands.

Max continued: "You a sporting type? You look like a sporting type. Come down to the smoking room for a nightcap. Riviera's looking for someone to play few hands of blackjack with him. What do you say? Not much else to do , not tonight. Brrrr. Cold as a cast iron commode out here. So what do you say?"

Carlson's mind was on his mission, but since he got invited he thought he'd oblige.

"Yes. I'll go" said Carlson.

"Great!" Max answered. "First let's swing by the Parisian Café. There's a man there, name of Zeitel. A German. Claims he's a businessman. But he's got something up his sleeve alright. I know the type, believe me! Dollars to donuts he's in some racket! So come with, why don't you? We'll hit the smoking room from there."

As Max led Carlson to the Café Parisienne, he couldn't help but think that he would be able to meet the man he and Penny were after.

Eventually they reached the entrance to the Café, which was located at the landing of the Aft grand staircase on B-Deck. In the corner of his eye Carlson thought he saw Daisy Cashmore, but he wasn't sure.

Max said: "Wait here. I'll tell him you've come." Max peeked his head into the Café. "Hey Colonel how are you doing? Really? I'd Like you to meet a friend."

"Come in." said Max. Carlson was led into the Café Parisienne. He marvelled at the plants and the wicker furniture. Sitting at a table toward the back of the Café were two people, one of which he recognized as Colonel Zeitel. The other looked like a young man in his early twenties. Other than he and Max, they were the only ones in the Café. Max pulled up a chair for him and they both sat down across from the duo.

"A pleasure" said Colonel Zeitel as he took a smoke from his pipe. "Haderlitz and I, we welcome diversion during such an uneventful passage. Don't we Willi?"

"Certainly" answered Haderlitz.

"So that's the protégé Penny mentioned!" Carlson thought.

"Willi is at the University of Vienna, dissecting children's fables" Zeitel said as he eyed Haderlitz with some annoyance.

"Cultural mythology, it's quite interesting" Haderlitz responded. "Though only a junior professor I tried to interest Dr. Freud. He's a genius and I… I…"

"Yes I am sure, quite" said Zeitel, seemingly having no tolerance for such talk. "On the passenger list it says you embarked at Cherbourg." he said to Carlson. "Yet I haven't seen you with the others. You were there were you not?" he asked.

Trying to come up with an excuse, all Carlson could say was "I don't make much of an entrance."

"I see. You are British." Zeitel answered as he took another smoke. "Not so many of you in Titanic's 1st cabins. These days most of the rich are Americans. Businessmen like Max. Tell me. Why do you go to New York?"

"I'm on business" answered Carlson, trying his hardest to be honest.

" Business. How interesting, considering the British aren't so good at it." Zeitel replied.

Carlson felt offended, but decided not to let Zeitel intimidate him. Although he already knew the answer, Carlson asked Zeitel: "What do you do?"

"Me? Inspecting our embassies." Zeitel answered. "Imperial Germany desires to make a good impression in North America. Willi is continuing on to the west. To conduct research on aboriginal customs."

"The Indians. They are fascinating!" Haderlitz exclaimed.

"Yes, yes. However, I place faith in science, not superstition." Zeitel responded.

Max then chimed in: "The colonel was saying this wireless stuff's revolutionizing everything! Sending messages to each other! It's the end of books and newspapers!"

"Like the Titanic!" Zeitel added. "A technological triumph! Here we dine in comfort while racing along at twenty knots!" he said as he took a drink. "It's still tied to the outside world by the wireless."

"That reminds me, Colonel Zeitel?" Haderlitz said. "When I go to send your telegram, they told me it was to be delayed. There are too many messages! The passengers…"

"I'm sure our guests do not care to hear a detailed discussion of your encounter with telegraphy" Zeitel interrupted. "Now if you'll excuse me?"

"Please, excuse us" said Haderlitz.

"Why don't you call on us tomorrow. Here, in the Café? Zeitel offered. "The Linzer Torte is quite passable for a British ship. Stop by. Willi and I welcome it most heartily."

"Yes. Most heartily" Willi agreed.

"And before I leave you must allow me to give you some advice" Zeitel continued. "Do not wander the ship. It is not good I think on a ship as big as the Titanic. Goodnight friends."

"Goodnight" Willi said, and with that they both left the Café.

"See? What did I tell you? What did I say?" Max said. "Them too! Up to something I'd say. That brainy kid gives me the creeps. What a grind. He should hang out with that little blond. She's a look I tell you. Come on, let's hit the smoking room. I'll introduce you to Riviera. What do you say?"

Carlson felt he had heard enough for the time being, and he had a mission to accomplish.

"No thanks" he said.

"Okay" said Max, somewhat disappointed. "I'll be up in the smoking room if you change your mind. Goodbye!" Max then proceeded to exit the Café.

As Carlson stood alone in the Café, he couldn't help but think that he had been just a foot or two away from the man they were after. Then, he realized something else: he had met an old friend, but he had also met a new enemy.

It wouldn't be long before he realized just what he and Penny were up against.

TO BE CONTINUED

COMING NEXT: Secret Connections


	4. Secret Connections

Carlson strode out of the Café Parisienne. He could hardly believe he had just met Colonel Zeitel. But no matter, he had important things to do. Suddenly, Daisy Cashmore walked up to him.

"But my dear! It's Daisy! Daisy Cashmore! Surely you remember" she exclaimed. Carlson remembered alright. She and he had been friends before he started dating Georgia. He'd always known her as a gossip queen.

Daisy continued: "You're a naughty thing! Don't think I didn't know you snuck on at Cherbourg! Smethells told me all about it. The old boy's dripping with news! Heard about Lord and Lady Lambeth. Ruined utterly! Scarcely enough left for appearances I'm told. I always liked Georgia. Married Charles for his name and fortune, sensitive girl. But she's made her nest. Now she must live in it. Well!"

Carlson by this point had had quite enough with Daisy talking about things she knew hardly anything about. "Can we get to the point?" he asked.

"My dear", she said "I have a little favour. A tiny, tiny, tiny one!"

"With pleasure" Carlson said, hoping to make her go away.

She answered, "Tonight at dinner, a man I don't know was making eyes at me! Be an absolute darling and find out who he is."

"How should I do that?" Carlson asked.

"Look him up in the passenger list" Daisy answered. "All I know are his initials: G. Q. C. The list's someplace, find it. I'll wait right here. Tah!" She then proceeded to go back to her place at the landing of the staircase.

As Carlson left to go back to his cabin, he couldn't help but think how she hadn't changed a bit. He walked back down the staircase and proceeded to head back to his room to decode that blasted telegram.

When he returned to his room, he once again marvelled at his large steamer trunk. "Who needs such a big steamer trunk? Oh, that's right! I do!" he thought to himself. He dug the key out of his satchel and unlocked it.

What greeted him was a whole bunch of drawer on one side of the trunk, and on the other was a phonograph with more drawers beneath it. Conveniently, there was already a cylinder on the phonograph. He started cranking the handle. On the record was a man's deep voice.

"Her Majesty's Government has assigned an agent of the Crown to rendezvous with you on board the Titanic. Remain in your cabin until your contact gives you further instructions. After the completion of all your assignments on board, book passage to remain on the ship and return to Southampton for your next assignment. For a more in-depth report of the international situation in the spring of 1912, please review the white paper included as part of this briefing. That is all"

Carlson stopped the cylinder. He recognized the voice now. It was Commander Hipple, who had fired him two years later. That would happen again unless he succeeded this time around. Also, he didn't have time to read any papers, he had a job to do.

Carlson opened the drawer containing the cryptograph. It closely resembled a typewriter, but bulkier and with a different key configuration. He connected the negative and positive wires to supply power to the machine. He then flicked the on switch, and the cryptograph was ready to go.

Carlson dug the telegram out of his pocket, and put it where he could see it. He then entered the numbers and letters on the telegram into the machine, and pressed the "Decode" button. After a series of clicks, the decoded message spewed out of the machine. He took out the paper and read it:

"…Rubaiyat hidden in boiler room 3, coal chute 4, SB will deliver painting after pickup. Will confirm… Zeitel…"

"Who is SB?" thought Carlson. The only person he knew of with those initials was Sasha Barbicon. But why would he be involved with Zeitel?

He would figure that out later, but first he had to find out how to get to the boiler rooms. The lift attendant would know, he thought. They would know their way around the ship.

Carlson left his cabin and walked down the corridor to the C-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase. The lifts, or elevators, were located just behind the staircase.

"Hello. Where to?" asked the lift attendant as Carlson approached him.

"I need directions. Can you help?" asked Carlson, hoping that his assumption was correct.

"I'm the man to ask!" the lift attendant excitedly answered.

"The boiler rooms?" asked Carlson.

"The boiler rooms? Blimey!" exclaimed the lift attendant. "Passengers ain't allowed down there!" He then continued: "Take the Second Class Stairs down to F-Deck. I fancy there's some stairs down from there. Where do you need to go?"

"Nowhere. I'll stay here, thanks" answered Carlson as he made his leave.

"Suit yourself. Goodnight!" the lift attendant responded.

"What a cheek!" thought Carlson to himself.

Carlson found his way to the boat deck and went to the Second Class Stairs, where he had met Georgia a while earlier. He went down several flights of stairs until he ran into a man on the E-Deck landing.

"A fine night to be indoors, cold as the dickens outside. Cold, but clear" said the man in a low voice.

Carlson nodded in agreement. "Who are you?" he asked the stranger.

"Clear as a bell and the stars! Oh you should see! A million stars in God's firmament. A congregation of light" the man responded. "The names Trout. The Reverend Edgar Trout. I'm returning from a mission in Africa to Sunapee, New Hampshire where we…I mean… I live. Emily my wife, she's dead."

"My sympathies" Carlson empathized.

"Thank you" Trout said. "We had looked forward to this journey, but she died at Port Saheed. Though it was Nyasaland that killed her, the doctors you know never did find all the parasites."

"Is there anything else?" asked Carlson, hoping that Trout would just shut up.

"Take this card, a prayer card. From my own collection." Trout handed the card to Carlson. "So you must like this section of the Titanic?" he asked.

"What section do you mean?" asked Carlson.

"Here! Second Class" Trout answered. "You can get to Scotland Road from here. Do you know it, Scotland Road?"

"Yes I know it. Good night" said Carlson. Of course he knew Scotland Road. It was a passageway linking many parts of the ship which the crew used to get to parts of the ship quickly. As he tried to leave, Trout stopped him.

"Wait! Before you leave, I was wondering. Perhaps you'd care to make a donation to our mission in Nyasaland."

"No, not now" said Carlson. He had more important work to do than to make donations.

"Sorry to have bothered you. Perhaps another time. Good evening" said Trout as he left Carlson.

Carlson walked down the next flight of stairs to F-Deck. Once he got to the cabin area, he found the stairs to the lower decks near Penny's room. A stairwell led him to the door to the turbine room. The turbine room was huge, just like the ship. He walked along a catwalk to the control room. He was about to open the door to the engine room when a crewman stopped him.

"What there? A passenger?" said the crewman. "I can't regulate the steam for boilers 1 and 2. So I don't have time for you, you're where you shouldn't be. Now get up top, 'fore you're kicked up there!"

Once again Carlson thought up a way to diffuse the situation. "Maybe I can solve that problem for you" he said. He had studied engines when he was at the university.

"Well I doubt it. She's still acting up" the crewman answered. He pointed to the control panel. "See? Still working the bugs out of her! See for yourself!"

"I'll help you" said Carlson, hoping to subdue the crewman's anger.

"Have at it" the crewman answered. "There's a gauge showing the turbine's power output. The needles gotta move into the green zone. Over here!"

Carlson walked to the control panel. After studying the controls a bit, he figured out how to fix it. He fiddled with three of the levers until the needle moved into the green zone. He then turned to the crewman.

"Right smart you were" said the crewman. "She's running much smoother now. Say, since you were so interested, go on, have a peak in the engine room, she's quite a sight!"

Carlson proceeded to enter the Engine Room. Again, he was amazed by its size. He continued along the catwalk until he reached the door to Boiler Room 1. He walked through the first two boiler rooms until he got to Boiler Room 3, where the Rubaiyat was stashed. He immediately noticed someone else on the catwalk. He definitely wasn't a stoker, but he looked like he had been there a long time. His clothes were also ragged. As Carlson approached the man, the other man walked up to him.

"You are a passenger! Excuse me, I would speak with you…" said the man in a seemingly eastern European accent.

"What do you want?" asked Carlson, reading the other man's desperation.

"Forgive me, I am sorry to intrude on you, a person of such high station. I am Vlad."

"Such high station? Hardly!" thought Carlson. "What are your troubles?" he asked.

"I have many" Vlad answered. "I am leaving my home. I'm a Serb and they have killed my wife, my children…" His eyes suddenly glowed with hate. "…the Austrians. For that they will pay. But, I do not want to burden you. Please, I need a favour. I've a friend in First Class. In cabin A-14. Mr. Barbicon has a package for me, can you bring it here?"

It was then that Carlson knew for sure that Sasha Barbicon was involved. Furthermore, he had finally realized what Vlad was down here for. He was down here to get the Rubayait for Sasha! He couldn't let him do that! "Why are you down here?" asked Carlson, hiding his sudden revelation.

"I am a stowaway" Vlad answered. "If I am caught, maybe, they'll throw me overboard. Please get the package. I've eaten nothing for days, save for a rat who was not so fast."

Carlson wanted to feel sorry for Vlad, but he couldn't. "What is your friends name?" he asked, pretending not to have known.

"His name is Barbicon" Vlad repeated. "In A-14. Tell him you've come from Vlad. He will give you the package. I'll wait here for your return. Your assistance will be repaid manifold"

It was then that Carlson realized just how complicated this mission had gotten. It was bad enough worrying about Zeitel, but Sasha and this stowaway Vlad?

He had to figure out quickly how to get the Rubayait. But could he do it?

TO BE CONTINUED

COMING NEXT: The Rubaiyat Retrieved


	5. The Rubaiyat Retrieved

Carlson had to think fast. He had to retrieve the Rubaiyat, but how? How could he get past Vlad? Finally, he had an idea.

"Vlad, I'm going down to inspect the boilers first" he said. It seemed like a good excuse to have to go down there. Vlad just nodded at him and continued to pace up and down the catwalk.

Carlson climbed down the ladder from the catwalk to the boiler area. The heat was almost unbearable, but he had a mission to do. He went immediately to Coal Chute 4. Carlson looked up to be sure that Vlad wasn't watching, then opened to panel to chute door lever. Lo and behold, there it was, the Rubaiyat. Once more, he looked up to make sure Vlad wasn't watching, and then quickly shoved the Rubaiyat in his satchel. But, he wasn't done yet.

Carlson then went to the coal chute the farthest down the line, and transferred the Rubaiyat to that coal chute's lever box. He once again looked to see if Vlad had seen him. Fortunately, Vlad hadn't. Carlson went back up to the catwalk.

"I'll get your package from Mr. Barbicon now" Carlson told Vlad.

He walked back the same way he had come, through the engine, control, and turbine rooms, up the small stairwell to F-Deck, and then up the Second Class Stairs up to the Boat Deck. He then walked around to the door to the Forward Grand Staircase. He once again saw the heavy set man at the landing. Carlson thought he would talk to him for a while, maybe he could be of some help.

"Oh! Hello!" said the man as Carlson walked toward him. "Don't think we've met. I'm Leyland Sachum Trask, metaphysical scribe and evangelist for the supernatural."

"My name's Carlson", said Carlson as they shook hands.

Trask continued: "I've been in London attending a conference on premonitions among sensitives"

Carlson didn't believe in that sort of thing but decided to go along with it. "Where are you from?" he asked.

"You've heard of my institute, the Astral Bureau of Circulation? In Boston?" Trask answered. "The ABC is a place where mediums of impeccable character can co-mingle in harmony."

"Are your predictions reliable?" Carlson asked.

"There's a range of course" Trask responded. "But, given the right training psychics can reveal information hidden to others."

Carlson realized that this man might be of some help after all. "What are your predictions for the Titanic?" he asked.

"This is a ship of destiny…" answered Trask "… which I think you know."

He knew alright. This time, however, he was sure he could not fail, though he had his doubts.

"I would like you to do a reading of something…" said Carlson as he dug through his satchel. He had a feeling that the necklace had significance, so he took it out. "…this necklace?" he asked.

Trask looked over it and waved his hand in front of the necklace. He then handed it back. "These, my friend, will surprise you, mark my words" Trask warned.

"How could a diamond necklace surprise me, it doesn't make any sense" Carlson thought. He then remembered Vlad. "Thank you, I must be going now" Carlson told Trask.

"Goodnight" Trask responded as Carlson walked away.

Carlson walked to the double doors leading to the A-Deck Cabins. The A-Deck cabin area was different in the fact that the cabins were located in alcoves, not one central hallway. Eventually he found a door marked A-14 and knocked on it. A seemingly wealthy and thus well-dressed man answered the door.

"Yes?" the man asked.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Barbicon" answered Carlson.

"You've found him" the man answered. "Sasha Barbicon of Barbicon Galleries."

"The names Carlson" he responded as they shook hands.

"Now what is it that I can help you with?" asked Sasha.

"I'm here to receive a package. For Vlad" Carlson answered.

Sasha suddenly looked startled. "For Vlad? He's on board? Please come in."

Carlson was ushered into Sasha's cabin, which was tiny compared to his own. As one would expect from an art dealer, Sasha had several paintings stored in the room.

Sasha laughed as he closed the door behind them. "He did it! I told him not to, told him I'd pay his ticket, but he was too proud. Such a tragedy about his family. They were with my mother's people."

"What happened to his family?" Carlson asked, hoping to get some second-hand information.

"When Austria took Bosnia they were killed, many were" answered Sasha. "With his family dead America seems as good a place as any for Vlad."

"What will he do in America?" asked Carlson, curious.

Sasha shrugged. "Ask Vlad, I don't know". Sasha gave Carlson a box wrapped in paper and sealed with string. "Here. His things. He'll be glad to get them. It's rather late."

Carlson wasn't done talking to Sasha just yet. "Do you know Lady Georgia?" he asked.

"Our history is quite…complex" Sasha answered.

"You know she's onboard" Carlson replied.

"Certainly!" Sasha responded. "Georgia is a woman who does not go unnoticed."

"She indicated that" answered Carlson.

"Georgia exudes a certain romantic paranoia" Sasha continued. "A condition I fear worsened by Charles' own romance with whiskey."

"Lord Lambeth drinks?" Carlson asked, quite surprised.

"Continuously" Sasha answered. "One hears there are financial troubles. They say Charles owes Andrew Conkling thousands of pounds."

Carlson thought about how much Georgia must be going through. "Can Georgia be trusted?" he asked.

"Georgia?" Sasha responded. "Have you talked to her? You be the judge. She's accused me of outrageous deeds! Libellous practically! I'm part Slav you see, a Serbian on my mother's side."

"No wonder he's in cahoots with Vlad!" thought Carlson.

Sasha continued: "Georgia finds a mixture of sources for wild stories."

"Wild stories? I must rescue her from all this!" Carlson thought. "What will happen to her?" Carlson asked Sasha.

"Not much anyone can do I'm afraid" Sasha responded. " Georgia's in clear need of a rest."

Carlson had had quite enough of this. "Goodnight" said Carlson.

"Goodnight" responded Sasha. "And don't believe what Lady Georgia says. She's not well. Enjoy your voyage." And with that Carlson was ushered out of the room.

As Carlson walked back to the Second Class Stairs, all he could think about was the suffering Georgia must be going through. Along with being in an unhappy marriage, her husband drank, and her so-called friend thought she was crazy. He definitely had to rescue her now!

For the third time Carlson walked down the Second Class Stairs to the F-Deck cabin area, down the stairwell, through the Turbine, Control, and Engine rooms, then through the first two boiler rooms until he arrived back at Boiler Room 3. Vlad was still there, waiting by the railing.

"Here is your package" Carlson said as he handed the package to Vlad. Vlad seemed to have a frustrated look on his face.

"Thank you" Vlad said. "I must see Mr. Barbicon, I have bad news." He looked to be sure no one was listening. "He will not be happy. I am looking for something. Something very important, but it's not here. You have seen a small…" Vlad stopped himself. "…It is of no importance. Goodnight." And with that, Vlad left the Boiler Room in a huff.

Carlson was pleased that his little trick had worked. He climbed down the stoker area and went to the lever box of the coal chute he'd hidden the Rubaiyat in. Sure enough, it was still there. Once again, he took it out and stowed it in his satchel. The stokers were too busy tending the boilers to even notice him. Once again he walked back through the boiler, engine, control, and turbine rooms. He walked back up the stairwell to F-Deck cabin area. He then found F-34, Penny's cabin. Carlson knocked on the door. Penny promptly answered it.

"Did you get it, did you find the Rubayait?" Penny asked excitedly.

Before he answered that question, Carlson thought he'd try to cull more information from the clues he'd found already.

"Let's first go over the clues that I have as of now. I've decoded a telegram Zeitel sent" he told Penny.

"Smashing!" Penny replied. "What have you learned?"

"The Rubayait was stowed in a coal chute in the boiler room" Carlson said.

"I was wondering how you got so dirty" said Penny. "There's a spot on your cheek. Yes, right there." Penny pointed it out. "You've got it!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, but before I give you the Rubaiyat I have something else to tell you" Carlson said. "Zeitel's exchanging the Rubaiyat for a painting he will pick up later."

"More art?" Penny responded. "Zeitel's no connoisseur. No, there's something about that painting of interest to the German High Command."

"There's something else" said Carlson. "I met a stowaway named Vlad. He knows Sasha, an art dealer."

"I don't have any information about Vlad, but the other fellow, look here" she said as she held out a photograph of Sasha.

Penny continued: "Zeitel's Titanic contact is a London art dealer named Sasha Barbicon. They say he smuggles art, but he's not about selling stolen merchandise. The files say he's Serbian interestingly enough, with links to some shady Balkan groups."

"It's all coming together now…" though Carlson. He was now ready to hand over the Rubaiyat. "Here's the Rubaiyat" he said as he pulled the book out of his satchel.

"Let me see!" Penny responded. She then looked over the book. "That's the Rubaiyat alright! Well done! Leave it with the purser for safe keeping. It should be undisturbed there." Penny handed over the Rubaiyat to him, and he put it back in his satchel.

"What do I do now?" asked Carlson.

"The painting is what Zeitel's really after" Penny answered. "You must secure it. Where or how I don't care, just find it and bring it back here. Remember, leave the Rubaiyat with the purser for safe keeping. He might also know where the painting is stored. Sneak a peek at his Cargo Manifest, that should help you find the painting. Cargo is stored somewhere below the Forecastle Deck. Things are thickening up quite nicely aren't they? We've got to get our hands on that painting! Don't fail!" And with that, Penny went back inside her room.

As Carlson stood in the hallway, he tried to think of a way to get to the painting quickly, because he'd have to act fast. He'd improvise he thought, and try to get to the cargo hold as soon as possible.

One burning question remained: How could he get that painting before Zeitel could get his hands on it?

TO BE CONTINUED

COMING NEXT: Race to the Painting


	6. Race To The Painting

Carlson knew he would have to move quickly if he wanted to get his hands on the painting. "Better focus on the task at hand" he thought. He journeyed back to the C-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase, where the Purser's Office was located. Carlson went inside and rang the service bell.

The door of the purser's window shot up and Carlson saw the purser looking over his checklist.

"Thayer... Thayer... Thayer..." the purser mumbled. He then noticed Carlson. "Oh... what do you want?" he asked, somewhat startled.

"What about Mr. Thayer?" asked Carlson, curious.

"What do you know?" responded the purser. "Not that it matters. I'm much too busy. I must get this message through for Mr. Thayer. Mr. Thayer expects his private train car to meet him in New York, and I can't leave my post. But I need to send this telegram."

Carlson could tell he was rather desperate. Carlson had a job to do, but he thought he'd make himself useful. "Could I help?" he asked.

"Help?" the purser replied. "Yes, it might be helpful if you deliver this message to the wireless room for me. Even better! Why don't you send it for me! Mr. Thayer is a very important man. So, send the telegram at once. And when you have, don't forget to tell me."

Carlson felt insulted. He was a passenger, not an errand boy. Nonetheless, it wouldn't take long to send a telegram. He'd received extensive telegraph training while training for the Service. Carlson then reached into his bag and pulled out the Rubaiyat. "I'd like to check this book" he said as he handed it to the purser.

"Very nice" said the purser as he eyed the book. "Security's our first priority, I'll put it in the safe."

"Thank you, goodnight." said Carlson as he began to leave the office.

"Glad to be of service, good night" the purser answered.

When Carlson exited the purser's office, he noticed that Smethells was no longer waiting at the foot of the stairs. No matter though, he had a telegram to send. Carlson walked up the staircase and back out to the boat deck. Eventually he found his way back to the wireless room. As he went in he waved to Officer Morrow who was still making his rounds on the promenade.

Carlson approached the wireless equipment, which was all so familiar. He dug the telegram out of his satchel and carefully read it:

"To: Pennsylvania Railroad

219 Chestnut Philadelphia

Arrange for railroad cars to New York

for pm departure to Philadelphia 4/17

John Thayer"

Carlson then proceeded to turn on the equipment and carefully tapped out the message. Since he had been trained extensively in telegraphy, it didn't take him long at all. After he was done, he shut off the machine and went to go back to the purser. Along the way, he couldn't help but think how he could have failed at his mission the first time around. He felt he deserved to have died in the bombing. But, as before, he decided to make the best of it and make things right. Or try to anyway.

He eventually made his way back down to the pursers office. Once more Carlson knocked on the door to the purser's window. Once more the door shot up.

"Yes, can I help you?" asked the purser.

"I sent Mr. Thayer's telegram." Carlson answered.

"You sent it?" the purser responded. "Marvelous. I was afraid you'd forgotten. Mr. Thayer will be most... grateful."

Carlson felt offended. He wasn't one to forget things. "Shall I tell the Thayer's?" he asked, hoping to make himself more useful.

"And let them think the purser's not doing his job?" the purser responded quite forcefully. "I am the purser, and as purser I am the one who looks after the passengers. Mr. Thayer is the vice president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, and it is I who shall inform the Thayers that their train will be waiting. So, if you'll excuse me..." And with that, the purser left the office.

Carlson felt this was the perfect opportunity to look at the cargo manifest, which was located on the purser's desk. He thumbed through it until he found the entry signed 'Barbicon Galleries'. Apparently, the painting was stored in a crate labeled 'Lemke & Buechner Shipping'. That information was fine and all, but how could he get into the cargo room? Once before, he had noticed the keys to the Carter's automobile hanging on the key rack behind the purser. He had read somewhere that the Carters would check on their automobile down in the cargo hold regularly. Perhaps he could take those keys and pose as a Carter to get into the cargo hold. It so happened that the automobile was stored in the same room as the painting. He had to find a way to get those keys!

Just then, the purser walked back in to the office. Fortunately, the purser was in so much of a hurry, he didn't even notice Carlson.

Carlson once again knocked the door, and it opened promptly.

"Yes, can I help you?" the purser droned.

"I need to get into the cargo room" Carlson replied.

"No, go away. I am much too busy." the purser responded. "Mr. Isadore Strauss. He's lost a cufflink. He's so particular."

"Can I find the cufflink for you?" Carlson asked, knowing it would probably be like finding a needle in a haystack.

"Thank you" the purser replied. "It is a gold cufflink. Mr. Strauss will be very grateful."

Carlson left the purser's office. He figured he would start his search where most of the rich on board usually gathered: the D-Deck Reception. Fortunately, it was just a deck below him. He went down the next flight of stairs and noticed immediately how elegant it was. He saw Max Seidelmann standing by the landing of the stairs. Perhaps he could provide a clue.

"Haven't seen Mr. Strauss have you?" asked Max as Carlson approached him.

"Where was he sitting?" asked Carlson. The cufflink probably fell out of Mr. Strauss' pockets.

"At the foot of the stairs, with his wife." Max answered. "Let me know if you see him will ya?" Max then proceed to walk back to his spot at the bottom of the stairs.

Carlson proceeded to examine the wicker chairs at the landing. He thought he saw a glimmer from the chair to his left. Sure enough, the cufflink was wedged between the cushion and the back of the chair. He picked up the cufflink and stowed it in his bag. Turning around he spotted Colonel Zeitel.

Colonel Zeitel beckoned him over.

"Wandering. I had advised you against it." Zeitel scolded. "Young people, they listen to no one nowadays. May I help you in your search?"

"Just looking around" replied Carlson, again not letting Zeitel intimidate him.

Zeitel chuckled. "I am looking for something as well. A misplaced notebook. Argh! Such a big ship! You have not seen this notebook?"

Of course he hadn't. "I don't know anything about a notebook" Carlson replied.

"Yes, but staying out so late at night you must have some curiosity." Zeitel responded. "Curiousity. In English, it kills the cat, yes? But it can also kill larger things." He suddenly glared at Carlson. "Stay away from German business." he warned.

"What business is that?" asked Carlson.

"Germany wants land, industries and material." answered Zeitel. "And we will fight to get it. Britain and America will try to stop this, but we will know your plans. And if there's war, Germany will win. But enough politics." Zeitel chuckled. "This has been such a civilized voyage so far. Let us meet tommorrow in the Cafe, yes? The band, they play Strauss so well. Until then, Auf Wiedersehen." Zeitel then walked away.

It was then that Carlson realized just what kind of person they were up against. This was a man hell-bent on world domination. But he couldn't worry about that now, he had to return the cufflink to the purser. He walked back up to C-Deck and went immediately to the purser's office. As usual he knocked on the door and the purser answered it.

„Yes, can I help you." the purser once again said.

„I found Mr. Strauss's cufflink" said Carlson, as he handed it to the purser.

„Wonderful." the purser replied. „Mr. Strauss will be pleased that I found his cufflink. I shall deliver it at once. I'm just sure his gratitude will be reflected most generously." With that, the purser left the office.

Carlson wasted no time in reaching over the desk and grabbing the Carter's automobile keys. He studied his map of the ship for a way into the cargo hold. He discovered there was a way in from the Forecastle Deck. He started heading to the Forecastle Deck.

He could only hope that having the Carter's automobile keys would help him get into the cargo hold. But, more importantly, he also hoped that the painting would be still in the crate when he found it.

TO BE CONTINUED

Coming Next: New Revelations


	7. New Revelations

Carlson raced toward the Forecastle Deck, hoping that his little scheme to get into the cargo hold would work. Once he arrived at the forecastle deck, he found the door which, according to his trusty map of the ship, would lead to the cargo hold. Upon going through the door, he was greeted by the sight of a poorly hit hallway with doors on either side. He found a door labeled TO CARGO HOLD. Inside was a metal spiral staircase leading to what looked like a loading area. A crewman was standing guard in front of the door. The crewman ran toward him.

"Nobody's allowed to..." he yelled, suddenly noticing the keys which Carlson held in his hand. "You got the keys!" he exclaimed. "You're a Carter! Right this way! Mind your head, its dark in there."

The crewman led Carlson past a heavy metal door and into the cargo hold, which was more poorly lit than the hallway leading to it. Carlson could just make out the compartments where the cargo was stored.

"Come to see your new automobile have you?" the crewman continued. "Can't say I don't blame you. She's a beauty! Gleaming like a new penny! You can find your way from here."

"Thank you, I'll go check on my automobile now." Carlson replied. He proceeded to walk down the hallway, looking for the right cargo compartment. Finally, he found the compartment number listed in the cargo manifest and opened the door. Although the compartment was poorly lit, he could just make out the automobile sitting in the corner. He tried looking for the crate in which the painting was stored, but he couldn't make out the writing on the crates. Perhaps turning on the headlights of the automobile would help, he thought. Carlson found the headlight switch on the automobile and turned it. Surprisingly, the light shone right on a crate marked 'Lemke and Buechner Shipping'. He immediately walked toward it. Carlson carefully lifted the lid off the crate.

To his relief, the painting was still in its frame. He had beaten Zeitel to the painting. Once more, he smiled at this victory. He carefully removed the painting from its frame, rolled it up and stowed it in his bag.

Suddenly he heard the sound of the heavy cargo hold door opening and closing. After that, he heard a loud thud. Immediately after, he heard Sasha's voice.

"Right this way, Zeitel!" Sasha yelled.

Carlson had to move fast. He couldn't be caught in here. He didn't know what they would do if they discovered him. Thinking quickly, Carlson turned off the headlights and dove into the backseat of the automobile and hid.

Just then, Carlson heard the metal door of the cargo compartment opening.

"It's in here, Zeitel." Sasha said. Carlson then heard the door close.

"Are you sure this is where it is stored?" Zeitel asked.

"Yes, I'm sure, Zeitel. I made sure of it myself!" Sasha repsonded. Carlson then heard the lid of the crate opening. Sasha gasped.

"But... but... I put it there myself!" yelled Sasha in utter bewilderment.

"Is there a problem?" asked Zeitel.

"Yes, the painting, it isn't there!" replied Sasha.

"What? But you told me repeatedly that it had been safely stored away." Zeitel answered.

"See for yourself! Its gone!" Sasha shouted. "There's another problem. The Rubaiyat, it was not at your drop point."

"But I put it there myself!" exclaimed Zeitel. "What happened?"

"It is just as I feared." Sasha answered. "There's a party on board. An agent working against you. Against us."

"How do you know?" Zeitel asked.

"My servant saw them at the drop." Sasha answered. 'They now have the Rubaiyat. This could ruin me Zeitel, if I were found out."

"We shall take precautions." Zeitel assured Sasha. "Sasha, I've discovered a traitor. Don't look so startled. It is not you."

"You mean, Haderlitz, your associate?" asked Sasha.

"No longer my associate I'm afraid" answered Zeitel. "Willi was an intellectual, and intellectuals aren't smart enough for espionage. Now, I must recover the painting and it's plans. I fear this third party of which you speak may already have possession of it."

"And Haderlitz?" asked Sasha.

"Thank you for asking" Zeitel replied. "Willi will bring no further harm to the Fatherland, I assure you. Lets leave this place and plan our next course of action."

With that, Carlson heard their footsteps heading toward the door of the cargo compartment. Afterward the door opened and closed with a loud clang. He waited until the sound of their footsteps disappeared. Carlson breathed a sigh of relief that they had not discovered him. He climbed out of the back seat of the automobile and tried to process what he'd just heard. "Willi, a spy?" he thought. Then he remembered that Willi's accent had a hint of Russian in it. But, he had no time to worry about that just now. He had to secure the painting.

Carlson walked toward the heavy metal door of the cargo hold. He then saw the crewman that had let him in laying on the floor, unconscious. Sasha and Zeitel had knocked him out, which explained the loud thud he had heard. He made his way back up to the Forecastle Deck. He then walked up the short flight of stairs which lead to A-Deck. Suddenly he noticed Georgia running toward him. She looked desperate.

"I knew you'd come!" Georgia said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Feeling he should oblige, Carlson asked "What's happened?"

"Charles received a telegram from the solicitors! Our estate's to be sold off!" Georgia responded. "He asked about the necklace I gave you. I told him I left it with the purser. Don't say anything to him or Sasha. Not him and his group of... There's much more to tell you. Can you meet me in my state room? I'm in B-70. It's Charles custom to go for a drink in the smoking room. When he does, visit me." With that Georgia walked away.

Carlson felt this would be a good opportunity to get some information from Georgia in private. Whats more, he felt even more sorry for her. But first, he had to check to see if Charles was in the smoking room. Carlson walked to the A-Deck entrance to the Aft Grand Staircase. Immediately he noticed that Daisy Cashmore was still waiting at the landing. He was then reminded of the favor she had asked of him. Fortunately, she was too busy chatting away to notice him.

Carlson walked up the flight of stairs to the doors to the smoking room. What greeted him when he entered was sheer elegance. Green carpeting and wood accents were everywhere. There was also a decent sized crowd of men. Carlson walked up to the attendant.

"I'm looking for Charles Lambeth. Is he in here?" asked Carlson.

"Yes, he's over there" replied the attendant, pointing to a refined but pretentious man standing toward the middle of the room. Carlson immediately recognized him, he had seen his face countless times in the papers.

'Thanks" said Carlson as he immediately left to go see Georgia. He thought it awkward to ask for someone and not talk to them. He walked down the two flights of stairs to B-Deck. After entering the B-Deck cabin area, he walked down the hall and looked for the door marked "B-70". Once he found it, he knocked on the door.

"Enter" said Georgia as she opened the door for Carlson. Once he entered, she closed the door behind him. "I wasn't sure you'd come" Georgia told him.

Not wasting anytime, Carlson asked: "What did you want to tell me?"

"First I want to know how you've fared these last years. Rather well from the looks of you." Georgia started. "I'm glad to see you. You're the only person I can trust. Please promise me you'll help."

Carlson felt he owed her a favor, considering he had up and left her to join the Service. "Yes, I promise to help you" he replied.

"You were always there when I needed you." she answered. "Now with my life a horrible mess."

"Tell me the story" Carlson requested.

"Sasha! I'll never trust him again!" she replied. "Don't you see? Their looking for guns! For bombs!"

Carlson didn't quite understand. "How did you and Sasha meet?" he asked.

"At a party last June" she answered. "Sasha was quite passionate. A Slavic trait I'm told. His mother came from Belgrade. I fell in love. We used to meet at his gallery, but we were never alone. They'd come at all hours! Sasha's friends. His gallery was their London base. They were rough men, foreign! Sasha told me they were part of a Balkan aid society. Stupid girl that I was, I believed him! But then I found out. These people they..."

Suddenly the cabin door opened, and in walked Charles Lambeth.

"Charles!" gasped Georgia.

"Please, Georgia, continue!" said Charles. "Was it my title or my income that you found most desirable? I was never sure. Now that both assets are depleted, why don't you go to Sasha? Maybe he can help, as he's done before."

Carlson could certainly tell that Charles cared very little for Georgia.

"Ignore him." Georgia told Carlson. "I see the smoking room has had its usual effect." she told Charles.

"Idle gossip apparently" was all Charles could say.

"You see his attitude?" she asked Carlson. "Please go."

"Since she obviously can't depend on me." Charles responded. "Here. Take the chill out of the air" he said as he offered a bottle of whiskey.

"No thanks" said Carlson.

"Thank you for seeing after my wife" Charles told him. "Now I think it best you leave the happy couple, drowning in their happiness. Goodnight."

"Remember, I need your help!" Georgia implored as Carlson left the cabin.

Carlson thought that the more he learned of Georgia's plight, the more he felt responsible for all of it. It was he who had left her to join the Service. He also felt it would be best to talk to Charles later, in hopes of getting some honest information from him.

However, there was no time to think about such things. Carlson had a mission and a few favors to do. He walked back toward the Grand Staircase to continue his mission.

TO BE CONTINUED

COMING NEXT: A Scandalous Ransom


End file.
